


Obligations

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Force-Feeding, M/M, Stuffing, Trans Character, unapologetically self-indulgent horniness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Sheffield invites O'Brien to dinner at his apartment, and O'Brien bites off more than he'd like to chew.
Kudos: 3





	Obligations

**Author's Note:**

> Not putting this in the main tag to save everyone legitimately interested in this series the trouble. If you know who I am, please don't tell anyone how I live.

The taxi roared off in the distance the second Heat O'Brien stepped out and closed the passenger door. It was 5:47, so his phone said: 13 minutes earlier than when Serph requested he arrive. If there was one thing Heat prided himself on, it was his punctuality, and pleased with that Serph was. 

He'd visited Serph at his apartment more times than he could count on both hands, and the same went the inverse way—in their past, typically for study meet-ups, but now that the two were both graduated and employed such was no longer the case. Work discussions and casual hangouts were equally common, as ironic as it was, seeing how the pair always locked horns in their day to day life. Regardless, no matter how many times he came to drop by, Heat couldn't help but marvel at the surprising grandeur of the building at which his colleague dwelled.

As he passed through the front entrance to check in to the lobby, he recited Serph's apartment number in the back of his mind like some archaic mantra. One of many gratuitous habits, he reckoned Serph would say. The alphanumeric combination filled his head like dense foam after the desk clerk gave him the okay, making his way to the elevator, to the hallway on the third floor, and ultimately to the door behind which Serph dwelled.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot Serph a message. "_Here. Sent: 5:53 PM"_. The door swung open on no time, revealing his warmly-grinning partner at the helm.

“Ah, hello, O’Brien,” the raven-haired young man said, intent veiled by a sly grin. “Took you long enough.”

Heat laughed—a brisk, awkward laugh. “What do you mean? I got here early.”

“Well, I see you’re as eager as always. Come on in.”

The blonde obliged, walking inside and closing the door behind him, kicking off his shoes at the rug before the door. He looked around and around, surveying every last detail of the apartment. He drank in Serph’s elegant taste of decor; the otherworldly atmosphere of his home. Then, something else grabbed his attention.

_The smell!_ Call it cliche, but it was heavenly. Words failed him. It carried notes of fine herbs and exotic spices, of a rich, buttery undertone that left Heat longing for more and more. Serph was headed to the kitchen, thus he was left to follow, and the mouthwatering aroma got stronger with each and every step.

“So, why don’t you take a seat? Dinner should be just about ready,” Serph spoke over his shoulder.

“Oh—I’d be more than happy, thank you.” With that, Heat promptly sat himself at the dining space adjacent to the kitchen and simply waited.

From the dining room, he watched Serph gingerly ladle serving after serving of the dish onto one plate before distributing to the next. It was apparent even from a distance that the portion sizes, however, were harshly unmatched. He couldn't help but assume the larger dish was intended for him, given his larger build and athletic regimen, as Serph retrieved silverware from a drawer then drew near with a plate in either hand.

His suspicions were proven correct when Serph set the larger plate at his place at the table. Upon closer inspection, indeed, the dish was far larger than what Serph had given himself, so much to an extent that it was almost comical. It wasn't that Serph's plate was too small either; rather, the sheer amount of food on Heat's was practically threatening to spill over the edge at any time, with so much food piled on that the plate beneath couldn't even be seen. Heat snapped himself out of the momentary daze to see Serph, who had already dug in, giving a look halfway between doe eyes and a disapproving scowl. That was more than enough to get him to follow suit and join in.

There was already a fork jutting out from the edge of the plate, hastily slid beneath the pile of pasta. Serph hadn't had time to properly set the table. Heat took it where it was and spun it around, enclosing the end in a bundle of noodles before spearing a large whole shrimp. Serph watched eagerly as he brought it to his mouth.

"So, how is it?" The younger asked between paced bites.

"It's amazing," Heat replied. "Seriously, you made this? This is more like what I'd expect from a five star chef. I mean, no offense to you, I've just never had anything like this before."

"I'm glad to hear, but it's not very polite to talk with your mouth full," Serph chuckled. "Well, I made sure to make enough for seconds, so help yourself, by all means."

Internally scolding himself, Heat reached for a napkin and covered his mouth. "Hah, thanks." As tasty as it was, he highly doubted he'd have room for any more, that is if he could even manage to finish off the gargantuan plate in the first place.

While he steadily chipped away at his meal, Heat couldn't help but notice that although they ate at the same pace, Serph was almost finished although he wasn't so much as halfway done himself. The amount he'd already had to eat was mind-boggling; his spine prickled at the thought of how many calories he'd consumed, and worse yet, how much more he'd put away by the end of the night. The idea of wasting food was sour on his tongue after years of going hungry in his childhood, to the point at which leaving no meal unattended to was practically an obligation in his eyes. He reached for the glass of wine in hopes of easing his nerves and drained what was left, readying himself for the next bite. Serph, as keen as ever, perked up at the notion.

"Ah, you're done? You should've said so. Here," he said, leaning towards the epicenter of the table, "let me pour you another glass." 

"...Thanks." It was clear from Heat's eyes that the last thing he needed was even more not to waste, but for all it seemed, Serph was pleasantly oblivious.

"You're welcome," Serph beamed. "If there's anything else you need, feel free to ask. You're my guest, of course, and I want to make you feel as comfortable as possible."

Heat swept a stray hair out of his face. "I appreciate that," came his flat reply. He dug the fork once again into the plate of shrimp scampi and took what felt like the hundredth bite that night. It was beginning to feel more like mechanical repetition than really _eating_: scoop, bite, chew. Scoop, bite, chew, repeating the cycle over and over until his goal was at last realized. He was already quite full, and his pace was beginning to slow.

To add insult to injury, while his speed began its rapid decline, Serph took his final bite and washed it down with the rest of his wine. He looked evidently satisfied, dabbing at the corner of his lips with a napkin before resting his chin in his hands with a low, contented sigh. Still, he was oblivious to Heat—too oblivious to be genuine, he thought to himself with an outward frown. He brought the umpteenth bite to his lips.

It didn't take long for the silence to break. "Is something the matter?" Serph asked, cocking his brow. "My, I'd even say you look a little ill."

"No, I'm doing great." Heat choked down a rather large forkful. "I didn't sleep much last night."

"Well, if you say so. That reminds me - dessert should be ready by about now. I'll go check up on that…"

It took everything Heat had not to snap then and there. He pleaded with himself that Serph wouldn't force it on him, that he'd understand—

He reached for the wineglass and took a long swig.

On the brighter side, he reckoned, there was only a few more forkfuls to go before he'd be done with the worst part. As great as the meal tasted, it could have grave implications on his diet; not only that, but it was beginning to make him seriously nauseous. Heat shifted back into the chair with a groan, his stomach aching in short-lived reprieve. He was hyper aware of the way that the waist of his slacks cut into his swollen gut and idly wondered what limit it would take to make it give.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Heat forced the last few mouthfuls down and tipped the last of the wine down his throat. He slumped back in his seat with a gruff sigh, no sooner than which Serph's voice piped up before him.

"Finally done, eh? Looks like you're just in time." Heat opened his eyes to see Serph place a plate of brownies at the table. "One more thing, hold on." He left for the kitchen and came back with a glass of milk.

"Just one?" There was a hint of drowsiness to Heat's voice, and certainly not due to a lack of sleep. 

"That's right. All for you, my guest."

Heat could feel a knot gathering in his throat. He wanted to yell, to chew out his colleague, to call him out for being as sick in the head as he was for watching him struggle and _enjoying_ it. But even if he had the gall, he simply couldn't. He was sapped. So, with a defeated thank-you, he took the glass in his hand and let its contents wash down.

"I mean, you're going to have a brownie, right? I made these for you myself. Original recipe," Serph bragged. Heat wanted to clobber him then and there.

"Yeah, of course," Heat replied with a slight pant, eyes half-lidded. "Gimme a sec, geez."

A few moments passed in silence before Serph's eyes went wide, gleaming with mischief. "I had no idea you were so tired, Heat… So tired you can't even enjoy this treat I made with you in mind. Such a shame, really. Well, I know how to help."

Heat felt his innards creep into his throat as Serph took a brownie from the heap of baked goods… And guided it in his direction.

"Open wide, take a bite."

That did it. "Fuck off, Sheffield! Jesus!"

Serph remained unfazed, still bearing his characteristic cheshire grin. "No need to feel shame in it. I'm always here by your side to lend a helping hand when you need me." He leaned over the table and pushed the brownie mere centimeters from Heat's lips. "Now, open up, if you’d be so kind.”

He could feel his face go bright red as he begrudgingly obliged. Heat took a sizable bite of the baked good and swallowed it, hardly half-chewed. He finished off the remains in the same manner. A sense of distant dread overtook him as Serph reached for another.

"Do you want another drink?" Serph asked, his other hand hovering over the glass.

Heat took a moment to consider. His throat was already beginning to dry, but he held strong doubts that he could handle any more in his ailing stomach. "No. Fuck. Absolutely not."

The second brownie went down slower than the last. If it were possible, Heat's face went redder yet at the realization that, at his angle, Serph was privy to the sight of his engorged belly. He wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear, but he knew all too well that there would be no hope until Serph had had his fun.

The third went a bit smoother at first bite, but after which, Heat's condition rapidly surged downhill. "I'm gonna be fucking sick," he moaned, much to Serph's delight.

"Have some more milk, then," the younger replied with a smile. _He was clearly enjoying this._ "That should help you out."

He tipped the glass to Heat's lips and watched, amused, as the latter choked down the smallest gulp he could manage. Serph tilted the cup upwards, forcing the substance into Heat's mouth. Little rivulets of excess dribbled down his chin onto his sweater. He choked it all down in one gulp and gasped heavily; one hand gripped the edge of his seat. Squinting his eyes shut in discomfort, he practically doubled over where he sat. His spare hand trailed down to the waist of his slacks and fumbled the belt, button and zipper open, freeing his distended stomach of the painful constraint. It was a relief, albeit not a substantial one, and the partial loss of his decency almost disqualified its worth.

The sight was mortifying, humiliating, _pathetic_. But in the oddest way he couldn't put a finger on, to Serph, it was nothing short of titillating. His arousal was evident beneath his garments—he was completely soaked. For a single fleeting moment, the question of whether or not he should attend to himself crossed his mind. _No_, he thought, but he'd make sure to keep the sight in mind for later.

All the while, Heat gasped and panted in his seat, now an unbecoming, disheveled mess. His swollen gut rose faintly up and down with each breath. Moreover, he was sensitive—so painfully sensitive, the mere idea of moving from where he sat made him shiver with nausea. All he could find within himself to do was cradle his tender, overstuffed abdomen in hopes that it might take the edge off.

Eyes gleaming with eagerness, Serph promptly set the glass down and reached toward the platter for another brownie, presenting it to Heat completely free of hesitation. The sight of him there, helpless and exposed, made his heart race with desire. The blonde, however, did not share the sentiment. He responded with his first true sign of protest.

Feebly, Heat pushed his hand away. “This is going too far,” he groaned, his words punctuated by labored heaves.

“Are you sure?” Serph gazed longingly at his form, his eyes coming to rest on the fabric of his boxers peeking out from behind his open fly. It was truly glorious. “You don’t look like you’ve had enough to me. I just want to help you fix that, that’s all.”

He shook his head. “No more. Please, I’ve had too much.”

Serph huffed. “Fine, whatever you say.” 

He took a moment to step back from the scene, his eyes still trained on every aspect of Heat’s body. Suddenly, he was awash with an immense sense of guilt. Heat looked miserable.

He approached his ailing partner, gently nudging him before extending his (empty) hand. Heat looked at him with a weak sense of indignation. “Here, up you go,” he said, shaking his hand for emphasis. “Grab onto me, I’ll help you get to the couch.”

“I can do it myself,” Heat grumbled. Clearly, he had difficulty doing so, for he struggled to bring himself to his feet—or even out of that chair, for that matter—on his own. Serph couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be so proud. I’ve seen it all with you, and you know it.”

Silently, he obliged, reaching out to Serph’s arm. The slight-framed fellow had trouble helping him upright, but it was nothing he couldn’t manage. Eventually, he was once again dwarfed by Heat, who clung to the crook of his elbow for support. It was comical in more ways than one.

As if locked in some awkward tango, the two made their way to Serph’s couch before Heat’s weight fell to it like a sack of rocks. Serph chuckled. “Comfortable?”

Were Heat’s eyes not squeezed shut, he would have shot him an indignant glare. “Tell me what you think, smartass.”

“Hmm,” Serph playfully mused. “Looks like you need more blankets to me. What do you say?”

“Fine.”

Serph hurried off to the hall closet and brought back a thick, downy blanket. He draped it over Heat, who laid on his back, hands clasped over his bloated abdomen. He shifted a little at the soft sudden coolness. “Well, let me know what else you might need, and feel free to stay as long as you like. You’re my guest, after all.”


End file.
